


Texts and Owls

by sophloph



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Muggle Sherlock, Potterlock, Soulmates AU, Teenlock, Wizard John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 08:08:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4997185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophloph/pseuds/sophloph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tempted by an unusual spell, John Watson seeks out his soulmate and is surprised by what he finds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

John Watson had found the outdated spell book while exploring the school library on a drizzly Saturday afternoon, a day unsuited for roaming the grounds. Not that a little rain usually had the power to deter him, but this day was particularly cold and this drizzle particularly intrusive, an unpleasant reminder of the approaching winter. Crackling fires and ancient armchairs made for far more comforting an atmosphere. Despite that fact, the library was largely vacant. Once again, John seemed to be the only one unable to get a simple permission slip signed.

Trying his best not to let that fact bother him, John settled onto the floor to examine the curious book. It was a small, dusty volume which showed its age in the discoloration of its pages and smelled a bit like the magic contained within, as if those pages had been stained by the hopes of past readers. The scent was vaguely floral. "Love spells," the title read, and, really, it was the sort of book which ought to be in the restricted section. John was old enough to know that love potions, spells, and anything of the sort could dangerously cross the line of consent. Yet here it was, tucked between a thick book on cooking techniques and another full of recipes, and no one had torn it from his hands. The reason for the lack of interruption was likely that most of the students had gone in to Hogsmeade, but it was convenient nonetheless. He skimmed through the pages, reading spells and scrawled notes alike and daydreaming about finding a girl who'd see him past the first date. Pausing, his eyes lingered on one spell in particular.

John may not have been born to magical parents, but he'd quickly picked up on what was myth and what reality in the wizarding world. Accordingly, he, like any sensible person, didn't believe in the concept of soulmates. Not in the sense that there was one person in all the world who would be his perfect complement, at least. He certainly believed in love, but he'd seen love strip down and destroy as powerfully as it could heal. And yet, still, the spell awakened a spark of curiosity in him, and the effects seemed innocent enough. If performed correctly and if the right conditions were met-- and oh, there seemed to be far too many conditions-- then the name of his supposed soulmate would print itself onto the palm of his hand. 

If the library hadn't been so empty, John wouldn't have dared try it, but, unobserved and seeing little reason to resist, he gave in to his curiosity. Before trying it with his wand, he repeated the incantation under his breath a few times to make sure he had the pronunciation right. After all, he wasn’t ready to throw all caution to the wind. Once he was confident that he could deliver it correctly, he pulled his wand from his pocket and repeated it again, this time swishing the wand as specified.

The pain was certainly not something he'd expected. Once the spell was complete, John dropped the book in surprise, yelping as the letters began to etch themselves into his skin. He should have noticed the fact that the spell's description had said nothing about the use of ink, and he hoped fervently that no one had heard him cry out. Once accustomed to it, however, he watched in fascination as each new letter formed, following the path of slanted, unfamiliar handwriting. Each mark healed as soon as it was complete, leaving behind a pink, raised echo of the vanished blood. Impatient, he began to guess at what it would say when completed. Sheila? Sheryl? On both counts, he was soon proven wrong. The name itself was foreign to him, archaic enough that it made him suspect one of the old, pureblood families. He wasn't given simply a first name but rather a full signature, complete with a flourish at the end, and enough for him to track the person down, he thought giddily. "Sherlock Holmes," he whispered, tasting the name. "Sherlock."


	2. Ruffled Feathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John attempts contact.

The name had faded from John's palm within three days, but, by that time, his investigation was already thoroughly underway. He'd learned both that no student by such a name had ever attended Hogwarts and that 'Holmes' was not a well-known name in the wizarding world at all. Of course, marriage could always confuse surnames; perhaps this Sherlock was part of some branch of extended family. But, either way, he was not as easy to locate as John had hoped he would be.

John had also learned that, yes, Sherlock was a predominantly male name. It had thrown him off at first, and he still hadn't quite come to terms with it. The truth was, athough he couldn't deny that he'd had rather confusing feelings for boys before, he'd always dismissed them immediately and persistently. His letter to Hogwarts had caused enough upheaval in his family. There was no need to add insult to injury and become someone doubly abhorrent to his father.

However, his current search held no weight of obligation, and so, inspired by that first letter he'd received from the magical world, John decided to put his faith in the ingenuity of his owl. His acceptance letter had reached him, after all, with no difficulty, despite the fact that his home had never been visited by an owl before, and he'd heard stories of children recruited from much more peculiar locations. Perhaps something could be accomplished with just a name. Even if the attempt was fruitless, he doubted any harm would be done. 

It took John rather longer than necessary to draft his letter, because, although it would probably never be read, he wanted it to be perfect. The scroll of parchment would be the source of his soulmate's first impression of him. If the letter was delivered successfully, if this name truly belonged to his soulmate, and if John was wasting his time on anything more that a foolish fancy, that was. It was a pleasant dream to dwell on while he whiled away the time between classes, whether there was any substance to it or not.

When all of his 't's were crossed and 'i's dotted, all in neat print, John finally folded up the letter and, after arithmancy, took a trip to the owlry. There, Gladstone, his brown, tawny wonder of an owl lay nestled among the others. It seemed that the weather had been affecting him, too, and it was almost a shame to send him out into the cold. At least the rain had passed, leaving the air crisper and a bit fresher. After a proper greeting, John attached the envelope to his Gladstone's leg. 

Which, once again, left John to waiting. Gladstone couldn't exactly fly at the speed of light, and, understandably, it took some time for him to return. John was beginning to worry as the week came to an end, and took to checking the owlry daily after classes. If Gladstone returned letterless, it would be the best place to find him.

Unfortunately, that turned out to be just the case. On a Tuesday afternoon, the little owl returned a bit battered and with nothing to show for his journey. The absence of the letter John had sent off was the only promising thing about his arrival, and, of course, it could easily have been lost along the way. 

As exams descended on the school, thoughts of romance slowly faded from John's mind, replaced by stress, studying, and panic. When he did think for a bit too long about the spindly script that he'd held in his hand, crossing his life line and heart line and whatever else it was that people read in palms, he pushed the thoughts aside and forced himself to refocus on memorizing the correct application of Boomslang skin. Needless to say, by the time he'd returned home for the winter holidays, the thought pattern was nearly extinct. He'd known from the beginning that finding Sherlock Holmes would be a long shot. 

The letter was handed to him casually by Harry. "This came about a month ago." But how could she be so nonchalant about it with that posh name scrawled in oh-so-familiar handwriting in the upper corner? John felt his heart stutter, and he stared at the envelope until his sister started teasing him mercilessly.

Thank God he'd included a return address out of habit.


	3. Printed Ink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reply.

"Sherlock isn't a girl's name, is it?"

Harry had snatched the envelope back from John, and he wanted to slap her.

"No. Of course not."

"You're acting like you've just been sent a love letter. Ooh, look at that blush!"

"Shut up. Give it back."

Harry just laughed and slipped her finger along the crease instead, tearing open the envelope. The paper inside was ordinary printer paper, and the envelope was stunningly ordinary as well, complete with a postage stamp. 

"I'm serious. It's private."

"Dear John Watson... very formal. Is this a break up letter? That's harsh, Johnny."

John resigned himself to the torture of hearing the letter aloud, and pushed past Harry to flop onto the sofa. She perched beside him, half on the sofa's arm.

"I'm sure you think it was very clever of you to train an owl to deliver your mail. I do appreciate dedication to a prank, and the parchment was a nice touch, but your calligraphy skills are frankly horrendous. You asked for a response. Here is mine: if you attempt to prank me again, the owl dies. He was a very interesting test subject. "

Harry became increasingly skeptical as she neared the end, and she looked up at John questioningly. He did like it when she was like this, her teasing playful, although jealousy still spit in the words 'owl' and parchment.' As much as he wanted to tear the paper from her hands, it felt suspiciously like they were getting along.

"Sincerely, Sherlock Holmes," she finished. "You pranked someone without me? How could you?"

At that, John smiled, broad and bright. Yes, the letter had been far from flattering. Yes, Gladstone, good, decent Gladstone, had been threatened. But Harry was on his side. And Sherlock Holmes was out there, and Sherlock Holmes had taken the time to write him. That meant one thing: Sherlock Holmes was interested. 

"I'll be sure to let you in on the next one," he promised, and held out his hand for the letter. "Wanna help me look this bloke up? You're way better at all the social media stuff than I am. And I need more ammo."

Harry was smiling too, now, which was really very good. God, sometimes he truly did miss the days before his letter. "Sherlock Holmes. That's a horrid name," she said, with something of the holiday season in her laugh.

\---

It turned out that, at first glance, Sherlock Holmes was odd-looking. Perhaps it was the smile, which really wasn't much of a smile at all. Or that his eyebrows were a bit too light for the dark curls that framed his face, and his cheekbones were high and prominent, stretching his too-pale skin. Maybe it was solely because John hadn't known what to expect, and with Harry beside him, he could hardly describe the boy as pretty.

His Facebook page was sparse, but he'd linked to another page: "The Science of Deduction." Which was a bit crap, really. Pompous shite about his superior intellect and a few very strange posts about scientific research. "What a dork," Harry elegantly summarized. "How'd you find out about this guy?" To which John shrugged vaguely and muttered, "Friend of a friend. He might not really be all that bad."

It was clear that Sherlock didn't have very many friends, but then, neither did John. And the website didn't explicitly say that he was better than everyone, it just more or less implied it. Which, maybe he was. Maybe the research really was very advanced. For all John knew, he could be a genius. There was only so much that could be inferred from a website and a Facebook page.

"Friend him."

John wasn't on the site himself, but Harry was. Asking was a risk, though. Harry was often a wild card. Then again, this whole thing was probably a joke, he reminded himself. The stakes weren't really all that high, and he and Harry could have a bit of fun. Mess with Sherlock a little, and maybe they could find out what truly made him tick.


	4. Care in Messaging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sibling relations.

When Sherlock didn't accept the friend request quickly enough for satisfaction, the messaging began. 

This is John Watson. From the letter?

My owl didn't like you much. 

His name's Gladstone.

Come on, Sherlock Holmes. You must have come online by now. 

I didn't honestly offend you, did I? 

"You really don't know how to do this, do you?" asked Harry, and John lost his keyboard privileges. 

What're you wearing? ;)

"Harry!" John tried to grab the laptop back, but Harry stood, balancing it on one arm. 

I'd like to deduce you.

Into bed.

"Christ, do you really have to do that? That's making me look bad, not him."

Harry giggled. "Oh my God, you actually like him! Welcome to the team!"

"I don't."

"You do! You're head over heels already, just admit it."

"Harry...."

"You'll feel better."

"No, shut up!" John didn't know why it upset him so much, but the teasing suddenly wasn't very funny anymore, and John was up and moving. He had to get out of this room. He didn't particularly want to be in this house. "I'm not like you. Alright? I'm not. So, just, shut up."

Harry's eyes were wide and round, and John instantly regretted the outburst, especially when her expression was immediately sheathed in steel. He knew better. Or ought to. He really truly, ought to by now. You egotistical prick!" Yes, Harry had a temper, too, and Harry could also stand and fight. But that wasn't why John regretted what he'd said so deeply. 

He regretted it because they were meant to stand together, allies in the battle to make sense of the often uncertain world around them. Or, they had been before. Through everything, through all of the hospital visits and forced therapy sessions and false condolences, through their father's collapse, from which he'd barely risen after the funeral; through all of it, they'd understood each other. They'd stood united. The two of them, together, had been a certainty. And then a letter had come in the mail. A bit better for John than it had been for Harry, that was.

Now, they stood on different continents, practically, with an entire ocean between them. And Harry had been trying. Harry had been reaching out, shifting tectonic plates to give them another moment of together, before John had gone and pushed her away.

"You absolute arse," she hissed. "You homophobic dick!"

"I didn't mean," John floundered. "You know. You know I didn't mean it like that."

"Get. Out."

John didn't get out.

"I might like him. Maybe. I... really, I might."

"Are you serious?"

It was a bit of a silly question.

"John-"

"I just, I don't know. I don't know what I'm doing."

And Harry stepped forward, and Harry didn't punch him. 

"Tell me about him," she said instead, anger still edging her voice, but only edging it. "Let's go for a walk."

\---

It was still rather cold outside. John's jacket was pulled tight around him, but Harry seemed not to feel it as much. Her hands weren't even in her pockets, although gloveless.

"So, see, I don't really know him," John concluded. "It was just a silly spell. And you can laugh at me all you want for believing in it."

"No, I think it's a bit... sweet," Harry said, a negligible portion of the sentiment artificial and the rest genuine. "I just wish I had such an easy way to find a date."

"Can't be all that difficult. You're a Watson," John teased, and that was essentially that, for now. John was hopeful about the rest of the holiday. Not full on, foolishly optimistic, but hopeful.

When Sherlock didn't accept the friend request, Harry helped him write his second letter. Also on ordinary paper, this time, and delivered by the standard muggle method. "I want to see your soul," was one of the more heinous things Harry suggested. "I've been thinking about you a lot, and I'm dying to actually get to know you," was one of the less repulsive lines, and John went as far as to include it. "That's all I want. To get to know you. No strings attached."

He could understand entirely why letters had gone out of fashion in the muggle world. Waiting weeks between replies really was unbearable, and he was only home for a short window of time. Which meant that the reply had better come before New Year's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know a ton about a ton of stuff, so feel free to let me know if things are inaccurate or need adjustment. Thanks!


End file.
